The Song of a Raindrop
A lonely, thick stream of rain, as if carrying all the pain of the world,
Wakens the dark morning sleep hidden within those softly spread clouds.
An autumn-dark rainfall rushes down, as though to comfort our grief.
Even that single bird cannot defy the power of nature, they say—
A force that still slips past our reaching hands.
Wrapping around this darkness once more, that pitiful stream of rain—
Whose sorrow is it carrying, that it wishes to dance so wildly before the poor?
Is it trying to hear the silent, twisted outcry of the voiceless?
What kind of tears are gathered inside this rainfall,
That it tries to hand down its tear of sorrow to a new life striving to live?
Embracing the pain yet again,
Where is this foolish touch of the rain heading now,
Carrying these vast, wide tears as if to soothe those who mourn?
A trembling bird, having surrendered to sorrow,
Drifts away silently down the river.
The reason the unstoppable rain rushes toward us—
Could it be that, within the silent outcry left behind by the waves,
It wishes to wash away, to take away, the other "You" weeping inside of me?
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